


Right Now (In the Nick of Time)

by Temporaryism



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Car Sex, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Rivalry, Teasing, Top Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1912218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temporaryism/pseuds/Temporaryism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don’t you think I deserve the chance to defend myself now though? To regain my pride?”<br/>“What?” Harry scrunches his face up in confusion. “Like, you wanna fight?”<br/>Blue Eyes raises his eyebrows at that and lets out a laugh. It sounds sort of wonderful, like being wrapped in soft blankets.<br/>“Are you kidding? You’re about twice my size.”<br/>“Not really,” Harry mumbles in protest, but the skater talks right over him.<br/>“I think we should race.”<br/>“Race?”<br/>“Yeah, strap on a pair of skates and let’s go.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Now (In the Nick of Time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samajama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samajama/gifts).



“I don’t get it.”

“It’s roller derby. What’s there not to get?”

Harry raises his eyebrows at Niall, because—well, it’s not like roller derby is complicated, but it’s definitely not something you understand right away. Harry only knows it so well because he grew up in this tiny, godforsaken town, and what else is there to do aside from strap on some skates and push people around? Nothing, that’s what. 

Except, of course, Harry’s the odd one out. Niall, Liam, and the rest of their buddies all formed a roller derby team years ago, and became the Roller Derby Riff Raff (a term originally used by the town at large, while Harry was left behind on solid, stationary ground. He loves sports—don’t get him wrong. It’s just that the execution of them while maintaining his balance on wheels is a general no for Harry.

“I mean, I don’t get why we’re here. You guys aren’t playing tonight.”

“No, but the girls are.” Niall says this like it’s an everyday kind of thing.

“So? You haven’t been to any of the girl’s matches since you and Barbara broke it off.” 

Niall shrugs and heads over to the concession stand. “I’m starving. Let’s get nachos. Hot dogs?” The blond looks at Harry inquisitively, who answers with raised eyebrows and a headshake.  
“You’re right, nachos.” 

“But no, really. Why are we here, Niall?” Harry is almost to the point where he’s going to shove his face in between Niall and the guy at the register to get Niall’s attention. He doesn’t, though, because the guy is actually rather large and intimidating, and Harry doesn’t want to piss him off. 

“Niaaaall,” Harry whines. 

“Fuck, Harry. It’s not that big of a deal. We’re just here to check out the competition, okay?” Niall is looking at Harry very seriously, his voice just barely above a whisper. “Keep it down though, alright? We’re trying to go all incognito so they don’t know we’re here.”

Harry nods until Niall eases up. “So are Liam and them all gonna be here too?”

“Yeah, but we won’t be sitting by them. Less suspicious, ya know?”

“Right,” he says slowly. Harry doesn’t point out that the guys don’t exactly look like a roller derby team without all their gear on. “But, I still don’t get it. You don’t ever face girls? Like, what competition are you talking about?”

Niall looks like he’s almost reached the end of his rope. Too damn bad. If he’d explained everything before they left Niall’s apartment, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. “There’s two teams that came down from Doncaster—a girls and a guys. We figure since they all came down together that the guys will probably be here. Wanted to scope ‘em out before the competition Friday.” 

“Oh. Well alright then.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Harry scrunches his eyebrows and purses his lips. “Alright then.”

“Good, alright.”

“Right.”

The pair of them leave the concession stand and take their seats on the cramped metal bleachers surrounding the skating rink. Glancing around the crowd, Harry spots Liam sitting with Calum, as well as the other guys spread out in the stands. He supposes they are a lot less inconspicuous when they aren’t all grouped together. Still, Harry wonders if anyone has noticed them. 

“Are you sure we won’t draw attention just being here? None of us have been to a girls match in ages.” 

Niall shrugs, eyes focused on the rink. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we.” The first jam is about to start, so it’s not like Harry should have expected a better answer. He admits defeat and sits back, turning his attention to the rink himself. 

The announcer drags a mic and mic stand out into the middle of the floor before setting it down loudly, drawing the attention of everyone who had still been chatting away.

“Alright, gents and gentlewomen. It’s about time we got started with tonight’s matchup. This evening we have two teams of ladies, all of them out for blood. The first team are visitors from a land far away, called Doncaster. They are the Rhythmix Rollers!” 

Predictably, a chorus of “boo” echoes from the crowd. There’s an impressive amount of cheering though, coming from one section of the stands. Harry and Niall catch each other’s expression briefly before searching out the section of the crowd that is cheering on the away team. 

Niall jabs Harry in the ribs with his painfully sharp elbows and points to a group of rowdy looking boys across the way. Before Harry can get a good look in, the announcer steps in his view, listing off the members of the away team. 

“ . . . we got Cherry Vicious there, a blocker who has been named pivot for this bout, and last but not least, we have Lethal Anne, the jammer. On our home team, The Exes, we have our blockers, Carmageddon, Slayer Princess, and Taylor Drift; the pivot, Bondage Barbie; and the jammer, Miss Catatonic. Give it up!” 

Any and all booing is inevitably drowned out by the home crowd’s cheers.

“For those of you who are new here tonight, a jammer is the one who scores by passing the opposing team’s blockers, and the pivot is a blocker who has the ability to become a jammer during this evening’s bout if the jammer passes on her helmet cover. The blockers, or the rest of the team, simply try to keep the opposing jammer from getting through while helping their own jammer score points. Confused?”

The crowd roars in answer, but if anyone doesn’t know what’s going on, no one can tell. 

“Good. We’ll begin with the referee’s whistle. Good luck, ladies. Play dirty.” 

The announcer saunters away from his mic stand, but doesn’t leave the middle of the rink—he can’t, of course. All of the referees, the announcer, and the team members not in play are stuck inside the inner circle all night. 

Eight girls line up at the starting line, four in each row. The Exes take the back row in a show of hospitality. Lined up a short distance behind them are the jammers from each team. The whistle blows and the girls all take off. Almost immediately the blockers engage, slamming into each other from the side and locking up. Harry flinches. He’d forgotten how aggressive the girls were. 

Harry watches the match intensely, quickly forgetting why they were all there in the first place. It seems like both teams are pretty evenly matched. The jammers from both teams are still in the midst of the pack, fighting to get through so they can make their first lap and score points. 

Even though both jammers have pushed their way forward, in the end it’s Lethal Anne who is pulled through the pack first by her teammates. Miss Catatonic is held back by one of the Rhythmix Rollers blockers. By the time Miss Catatonic ducks and pulls out of the pack, Lethal Anne is about a quarter of the track ahead of everyone else. Harry twists his mouth into a frown, anxiously hoping Miss Catatonic will catch up. He really doesn’t want Holmes Chapel to lose on their own turf. 

The warehouse is full of urging yells at Miss Catatonic to catch up. Just one corner of the room is shouting out cheers for the away team’s lead. Niall is already looking over there, and Harry follows his line of sight to the section of bleachers holding the loud, unfamiliar boys they’d spotted just before the match. There’s a large group of them, considering. Some girls are mixed in here and there, but it’s mostly guys: they probably make up the entirety of the men’s Doncaster roller derby team. 

Holmes Chapel is smaller than Doncaster, no doubt, and they have a smaller team; only ten players total fill their roster, while it looks like the Doncaster team might have the full twenty. Harry tries to not let that intimidate him—it’s not like he’s the one who’s going up against them tomorrow anyway—but it’s a bit hard not to. From here he can see that the lot of them are covered in tattoos, and if he’s not mistaken, more than a few have piercings littering their ears and faces. 

Harry tries not to judge people based on appearance (he himself has an inordinate number of tattoos, and he’s about as intimidating as a fluffball), but when he matches them up against his friends on the home team, he finds himself a little worried for their chances, and possibly their safety. Roller derby is the kind of sport that ends in a lot of bruises and bloody lips. The rougher the guys look, the more Harry frets over his friends.

The shrill peel of the whistle sounds and the first jam is over. Harry drags his attention away from the boys to look at the scoreboard. It’s like a reflex, because even if they aren’t really here for the match, he still feels the need to know how it’s going. 

Rhythmix Rollers lead the score with four points while The Exes only scrounged up one. Harry grimaces at the scoreboard.

“Well.” Niall bites on his lower lip as he looks at the points. When he meets Harry’s gaze, all he has to offer are raised eyebrows.

“You think you guys are up for this tomorrow?”

Niall shrugs. “It’s a bit early to judge, don’t ya think?”

“I dunno. The girls are already way ahead. The guys’ team looks . . . intense.”

The expression on Niall’s face tells Harry he’s not impressed. “How many times do I say tattoos don’t make a good team.”

“You only say that because the one time you tried to get a tattoo, you were so drunk they turned you down.”

“Right, and I’m grateful. I never would have made that decision sober.” Niall nods, eyes hard. “Between the ten of us we probably don’t have more than fifteen tattoos total, if that. We’re a good team.”

“You’re not at the top of the league,” Harry mumbles.

Niall doesn’t hear him, or he pretends not to. “It’s only one jam. The girls have time to catch up, and even if they don’t, that doesn’t mean we’ll lose tomorrow too.”

Their fight is brought to a pause as the girls line up once again. The boys are mostly forgotten as Niall and Harry concentrate on the match for the rest of the evening. Occasionally they’ll glance over when the visitors stands erupt, but Niall doesn’t comment and he doesn’t ask Harry for his opinion. 

Despite the bad start, The Exes manage to catch up in the very next jam. Niall elbows Harry hard in the side to point out the tied score with a smirk; Harry glares at him and rubs at his sore ribs. “The match isn’t over,” Harry points out. It’s a losing battle though, so Harry lets it drop when Niall doesn’t respond.

_____________________________

 

It’s the Cheshire team—The Exes—who win the match. Harry argues about how close it was the whole time, because it was—there was no way to tell who was going to win the bout overall. Niall ignores almost everything Harry says. It’s an annoying habit of his, really. 

Harry’’s so upset about it that he completely misses their first run in with the mens Doncaster team. And by misses, he means that he bowls over one of their members entirely. Oops.

“Harry!” Niall calls out a second way too late.

He’s aware by now that he’s lying on top of someone small, possibly crushing them to death. “Oops,” he says aloud as he pushes himself up to relieve the person of his weight. Harry catches sight of the boy he steamrolled and freezes. His arms are screaming from holding up his body weight before he realizes he’s been staring. Even then he can’t look away—he’s never seen a set of eyes so blue. 

“Hi.” It comes out dry, but also a little breathless. Maybe Harry’s just being hopeful. Maybe he’s breathless because Harry just squeezed all the air from his lungs. Physically. “This has been thrilling, really, what a rush. Think you could maybe let me up now, love?” 

It’s probably an accident, but the guy shifts his legs and nudges Harry’s thigh with his knee. Harry’s brain short circuits and his eyes go wide. Move, he needs to move. Now.

Harry manages to push himself up the rest of the way, thankfully keeping all limbs and body parts away from Pretty Blue Eyes, who is still laid out on the floor. To be polite (and not because he wants to hold anyone’s hand), Harry offers to help the stranger up. 

“Thanks, I guess,” the bloke says when he’s standing again. 

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, really. I didn’t—”

“Don’t strain yourself, mate. No worries.”

Harry smiles uncertainly and ducks his head, glad that the boy doesn’t seem upset. When he looks again, the boy is already walking away with his friends, and Harry can feel his heart drop into his stomach. He didn’t even get a name.

But then, like a dream or a scene in a movie, the stranger turns around as he’s walking, finding Harry with his eyes and calling out to him. “We’ll settle this tomorrow anyway, on the rink!”

“Oh.” He’s one of the Donny boys. Before Harry can correct him about who he is, they’re all turned back and walking out the door. 

“That was impressive.” Niall is munching on popcorn, but he’s laughing with his eyes. Where the hell did he even find popcorn? The floor?

“Shut up.”

“Not only did you manage to nearly kill the guy, you also managed to spark a rivalry you aren’t even technically involved in, and you still didn’t get his name, even after you nearly choked just imagining giving him a blowie.”

Harry shoves Niall in the shoulder, but the blond ducks and wraps himself around Harry’s middle. 

“There is one good thing you got from this, though.” 

“Don’t tease, Niall,” Harry quips. He’s frowning deeply, which is not the expression he thought he’d be wearing after meeting the fittest boy in possibly all of England.

“You get to see him tomorrow. Another chance to get his number.”

“C’mere.” Harry stops where he is, halting Niall and forcing the crowd to part around them. He hauls Niall up so that he’s forced to let go of Harry’s waist and so that they’re standing at relatively the same height. He plants a kiss right on Niall’s hairline, making him blush deep red and giggle like the little boy he is. 

“Ge’ off, off.” Niall stick his hand flat on Harry’s chest and pushes away. “No more kisses, please.”

_____________________________

Harry’s shift at the bakery ends only an hour before the bout starts on Friday, so he has to rush home for a shower and a change of clothes. He doesn’t think about how he would have showed up with flour smudged on his shirt and sweaty curls for any other match before today if he had to cut it this close. It’s just, it’s Friday. They’ll probably all go out to the pub afterwards. He doesn’t want to look like he’s slumming it for that. 

He picks out his tightest blue jeans, figuring he’s worn enough black lately, and throws on a simple white t-shirt to go with it. After a moment’s consideration he passes up his hats for his favorite scarf. It’s one of the pricier ones, all silky and smooth to the touch. It’s outlined in a color he finds he’s very recently fallen in love with and it’s printed with hundreds of butterflies and a roaring lion in the center. Harry wraps it on with ease, almost a year of practise tying his own hair back guiding his hands. 

After having Niall to keep him company the day before, Harry feels a little out of place showing up on his own to the rink today. He’s also a little nervous for some reason. Swallowing down his discomfort, Harry follows the crowd inside and manages to find some acquaintances to sit with way before the match starts. 

Harry gets along with pretty much everyone fairly easily. He laughs along to the jokes tossed around the group, and he chats with all of them like they are friends he hangs out with all the time. In spite of that he finds himself distracted, distanced from these people so much more than usual. 

He knows why. Looking out to the rink, Harry fingers his headscarf as he pretends he’s trying to spot one of his friends and not anyone from the visiting team. 

Roller Derby Riff Raff, the men’s Cheshire team rolls out onto the rink first. They all skate around a few times to high-five the spectators lined up against the railing. Harry catches Niall’s eye the first time he flies by, and Niall motions for him to come down. Making his excuses to the group, Harry shuffles awkwardly down the bleachers until he reaches the rails. He has to wait for Niall to come around again so he hangs on to the cold-to-the-touch metal and smiles at the other team members flying by.

When Ashton passes, Harry grabs for the hand that he’s holding out for high-fives. Ashton gets away, but he’s followed closely by Calum, who nearly sends himself and Ashton careening to the floor. They end up in some strange entanglement as they skate away. Harry chuckles to himself over it, ignoring the strange looks he gets from the girl standing next to him.

Niall skids to a halt in front of Harry. “Glad t’ see you could make it.”

“Always do.” 

“Saw your boyfriend earlier.”

“Excuse me?” Harry wrinkles his forehead, blinks rapidly a few times for added effect. 

“Looked pretty hot. Better get on that, before someone else does.”

Scoffing, Harry pushes Niall away from the rails. “Get out of here, punk.”

“Nice outfit, by the way,” Niall persists as he skates back to Harry. “The only other thing you possibly could have done was brought a neon sign that says ‘hot n’ hard’.” 

“Fuck you.” 

A horn blasts from the scoreboard, and all the players and referees start to head to the middle of the rink.

“Wish me luck?” Niall asks as he pushes away.

“I hope you lose.”

“Thanks!”

Harry realizes about halfway back to his seat that the Doncaster team is definitely in the rink by now. He twists around so fast nearly falls into the laps of a teenage couple who look like they’re about to lock lips any second now. Ignoring their dirty looks, Harry decides he’d best wait until he’s in his seat to look for the boy from last night.

Everyone is skating in circles, settling on benches or preparing to line up, and Harry can’t really tell anyone apart from the visiting team. It doesn’t help that he doesn’t really know any of them; but he’d thought about that boy’s face so much all last night and today that Harry figured he’d be able to at least pick him out.

As the two teams line up, the announcer starts up his commentary, announcing the lineup for the starting jam. Harry tunes out most of the talk on Roller Derby Riff Raff, only catching that Niall, “The Craic”, is the jammer as usual. 

“Pitted against our hometown lads tonight are the Donny Death Rollers, who are no doubt hoping to get revenge for their sister team’s close defeat to The Exes last night. Our blockers for this first jam are Prince Alarming, Mike Maniacal, and Jawbreaker! The pivot for tonight is Scarecrow, and the jammer is The Tommo! Wish them luck!”

Harry cranes his neck to try to spot the jammer facing Niall, his eyes bulging to see that Niall is shaking hands with the boy from last night. Niall and The Tommo are even chatting up a bit, laughing over something. Harry wishes he were a fly so he could zoom over there and listen to what they’re saying. He’ll definitely be grilling Niall about it later. 

For now all Harry can do is drool over the The Tommo. His uniform for the game consists of jean shorts that are ripped and frayed at the bottom, hitting his legs somewhere above the knee, and a loose black vest that show off his arms and even a bit of his chest. Harry swallows, trying to ease his dry throat. There are tattoos littering the jammer’s arm from the wrist up, and something that looks like inked script scrawled over his chest. Though he’d seemed slight when Harry had been sprawled all over him, Harry can see from his spot in the stands that his arms and legs are defined with muscle. 

Harry bites his lip and prays that he can make it through the match tonight without getting hard. He also prays that he might have the fortune to take The Tommo home tonight. Maybe he’ll play it smooth, claiming he needs to make it up to the boy for last night. He’ll be charming and witty and one day they’ll have beautiful blue-eyed children together. For now, Harry crosses his legs as best he can in his tight jeans and focuses all of his attention on the jam. 

Alright, he spends the entire match with his eyes glued to The Tommo. Even when the lad sits out for one of the jams to rest. But, well, the guys should understand. He’s seen all of his friends play about a hundred odd times. Watching The Tommo is an entirely new experience. 

The benefit of watching the opposing team’s jammer is that Harry knows enough about the match to tell that they’re doing well. So well, in fact, that they’re annihilating Harry’s friends. With how evenly matched the girls were, Harry had thought today would have been much the same. Regardless, the result of it all is that Harry is nervously chewing on his knuckle for the majority of the match. 

He’s conflicted. A large part of him wants the Doncaster lads to win so that The Tommo will find Harry in his moment of triumph and pull him in for a victory kiss. The other part of him wants to cheer on his mates—like he should be doing—and also maybe offer The Tommo consolation sex if the Donny Death Rollers lose. 

As the half hour match draws to a close, Harry knows there’s no way the home team can catch up. They did score some points, but they are too far behind. Harry can read the defeat in their faces. When the buzzer sounds for the last time, and The Tommo and the rest of his team erupt into cheers, Harry feels awful for not being more supportive of his own team. He’s not even close enough to The Tommo to offer up his body in the heat of the moment. 

Feeling like a naughty child, Harry makes his way down to the rink as everyone else is clearing out. The Doncaster team is all huddled together and chanting loudly, while Niall, Liam, and all the other lads from the home team look as if they’re all beating themselves up mentally. Harry walks over to where Niall and Liam are standing, shyly pushing his way into their group. Liam has a hand on Niall’s shoulder, like he’s comforting him for their loss. 

“Hey guys.”

“Hey,” Liam answers. 

“You sure can pick ‘em, Haz.” Niall is smiling at his own joke, but something looks a little wrong with the smile, like it’s not as big as it should be.

“I’m sure it’s just an off day for you guys. You’ve done good the rest of this season.”

“Yeah, and we’re not out of the running yet,” Calum adds as he joins their little pity party. “Cheer up, guys. Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll hang around long enough to face them again this season. We’ll make one of those cool comebacks, like in the movies.” 

Liam and Niall both smile at that, and Harry feels his shoulders relaxing. 

“Oi!” The call cuts through the air of the empty arena. Harry immediately looks around to find the source of the sound until he’s face-to-face with Pretty Blue Eyes. Quite literally face-to-face, as the lad was standing right behind him before Harry turned around. 

Harry throws Niall and Liam a panicked face. Niall shrugs and Liam just looks confused. 

“Hey, you.”

Pointing to himself, Harry asks, “Me?”

“Yes.” The Tommo flashes Harry a smile, showing off sharp canines and the fact that he looks radiant after getting thoroughly exercised. He’s also really sweaty. _Jesus_. “What happened? I thought we were gonna settle our differences on the rink today.”

“Oh, right. I’m actually not on the team?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Uhh, no,” Harry decides. “No. I’m not.”

“Well now I feel cheated, maybe even a little lied to, Curly. You didn’t give me a chance to redeem myself after you bowled me over yesterday.”

“Sorry,” Harry blurts.

The Tommo shrugs. “Alright. Don’t you think I deserve the chance to defend myself now though? To regain my pride?”

“What?” Harry scrunches his face up in confusion. “Like, you wanna fight?”

Blue Eyes raises his eyebrows at that and lets out a laugh. It sounds sort of wonderful, like being wrapped in soft blankets. 

“Are you kidding? You’re about twice my size.”

“Not really,” Harry mumbles in protest, but the skater talks right over him.

“I think we should race.”

“Race?”

“Yeah, strap on a pair of skates and let’s go.”

“Skates?” Harry hears that his voice sounds higher in his own ears, and he clears his throat.

The Tommo nods. “Yeah, I’m sure somebody here has a pair you can borrow. What size are you?” The boy is looking pointedly at his feet, and Harry kicks one shoe with the other self-consciously. 

“I—uh, I don’t really think that’s fair?”

“I really don’t know what you think, mate. You’re gonna have to figure that out for yourself.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s not fair. You’re on a roller derby team, I don’t even know how to skate.”

Silence falls over the small group at Harry’s admission. It’s nothing his friends don’t already know, but The Tommo and his teammates all have a range of shocked expressions on their faces. Harry’s challenger is the first to break the awkward silence with a laugh.

“Everyone knows how to skate.”

“Well, like, I mean I know how to skate bu—”

“Alright then!” the boy interrupts loudly. “Let’s do this.”

“No!” Harry cries, panicked. “I really—I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t skate, so.”

“You’re not joking.”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Well I’m not quite sure what to do about this then.”

“Accept my apology?” Harry smiles hopefully. “And maybe we can shake hands?”

The lad regards Harry for a moment, seemingly unsure of his offer. Harry holds his smile, hoping that he comes off as friendly. He's always up for a little competition, but he's not ready to embarrass himself in front of this guy for the second time in two days. Besides that, he's hoping his charm and nice smile will get him farther with The Tommo than striking up a rivalry would. He didn't dress up for nothing.

Finally, and somewhat abruptly, The Tommmo sticks out his hand. He isn't smiling, but he's smirking a little. A breath of relief escapes Harry's lips and he envelopes the skater's hand with his own. The hand in his is small, almost entirely covered by Harry's own fingers, and surprisingly dry and rough. 

"I'm very sorry that I knocked you over. I promise I didn't mean it."

"You're forgiven," the lad says, his tone colored with a smile. "Do I get a name? I figure you owe me at least that much."

"H—Harry," he stumbles out.

"Louis," the boy returns. His smirk has grown into an open smile, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. If his smirk is enticing, his smile is breathtaking. Harry feels his heart thrumming in his chest and his fingers tingling where their hands are still touching. He thought it would have taken more effort than that to get Louis' name, but he's definitely not complaining. 

Louis releases Harry's hand, and Harry, left with no other choice, lets his own arm drop to his side. The moment is broken. Harry remembers that there are other people in the room and feeling slowly returns to his hand.

"Well, Harry, I'm glad we could work through our differences, but it looks like we've got to get going. See you around?"

Harry nods, still a little too breathless to speak. 

With an answering nod, Louis walks away, his friends in tow. Harry watches Louis go, a dopey kind of fondness taking over his face, surely. 

_____________________________

The problem with crushing on someone from a rival roller derby team is that after the match, they leave. They don't just leave the auditorium either, but Holmes Chapel altogether. The reality of it doesn't hit Harry right away—not even as he's watching their old, run-down school bus leave the lot, Louis hanging halfway out the window, wagging his tongue and yelling nonsense back at Harry. 

It hits him the next morning when he's laying in bed, Niall snoring next to him because Niall was too lazy to go to his own room. 

"Niall," he mumbles groggily. The blond doesn't answer, and that annoys Harry enough to want to wake him up more. "Niall," he hisses again.

Niall snorts. For a moment Harry thinks that Niall is finally going to wake up, but all he does is shift a little and resume snoring. Irritated, Harry shoves Niall roughly in the shoulder. Niall starts awake as he slips off the bed, and he ends up mostly on the floor with one leg and one hand clinging to the edge of the bed desperately.

"What'd you do that for?" Niall groans. 

"He's gone, Niall."

"What?" The Irish lilt in his voice is thick.

"I'll never see him again," Harry clarifies.

Niall sighs. "Oh lord." Struggling, Niall takes a very loud and confusing two minutes to pull himself up off the floor. 

Harry expects Niall to join him on the bed again, but instead, Niall steps over the blanket he'd pulled off the bed with him and walks towards the door. 

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep." 

"But, Niall," Harry whines.

"Not now. 'S too early for this."

_____________________________

Moping isn’t attractive, it really isn’t. That’s why Harry tries hard not to give into it after he’s realized that he missed his opportunity with Louis. He has the memory of Louis’ hand in his and the way Louis’ eyes get all squinty when he smiles wide enough and really, that should be enough for someone he only met twice—especially when both times were too brief to develop any sort of attachment. 

Harry goes about his business instead, working at the bakery every day and hanging out with the lads on his time off. He does everything he used to before he met Louis. Sometimes he wonders what he thought about during the dull moments at work before he could think about Louis’ legs, and other times he catches himself sending poetry about them to Niall. But other than all of that he manages to get by (mostly) without dwelling on how much he fucked up. 

That is, until Niall confronts him about it. 

“I’m sick of this.”

Harry lifts his head from the table he’d been resting on as he absently read the cereal box. He furrows his brow, looking around Niall to try to figure out what he’s talking about. 

“Of what?”

“You, ya lump.” Niall pushes Harry the rest of the way off the table before going to rustle up a bowl and a spoon. He comes back and drops the bowl on the table, making Harry jump. “You’re pathetic. You’re eating cereal and it’s mid afternoon.” 

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Harry looks at the bowl Niall is dumping cereal into inquisitively.

“Don’t change the subject, Harry. Honestly, I’m appalled by you. This heap of flesh that’s been lazing around the flat lately isn’t me best mate. I know what’s getting you down, though. So I’m here to fix it.”

“Fix what?” Harry asks, playing dumb.

“We’re gonna get you and lover boy to meet up again.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Harry.” Niall is looking at Harry sternly, spoon poised just above his bowl of cereal.

“Niall, there’s no point. He’s probably not even into guys. It was just, like, a funny happenstance. If something was supposed to happen it would have happened.” Harry nods sagely. He’s thought a lot of this through already. 

“Please,” Niall says around a mouthful of cheerios, “no guy in roller skates is entirely straight.” 

Niall is a walking contradiction. Harry says as much. The blond only shrugs it off.

“Anyway,” he continues, “we’re going out tonight. It’s gonna take us awhile to get there so hurry up and shower. Look pretty.” 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He doesn’t seem to be in the mood to share anymore information than that, so Harry resigns himself. If he’s being honest, he’s kind of tired of moping around anyway, and Niall is being super secretive, which makes Harry curious. Harry gets up from the table while trying not to seem too eager so he can head to his room and shower quickly.

_____________________________

It’s a roller derby match. That’s where they’re going. Well, they’re actually at the match now. They haven’t gone inside yet, but Harry recognizes the gathering for a roller derby match when he sees one; he’s been going to them all his life, practically. Niall parks the car, and as he turns the key in the ignition to shut off the car, Harry stares him down, unimpressed.

“This is a roller derby match.”

“Very astute.” Niall is already unbuckling and reaching for the door handle. Harry practically throws himself across the middle console to stop him. 

“Why are we at a match?”

Niall shakes his head incredulously. “Where did you think we were going? His house?”

“His name is Louis. And no, obviously not.” Harry withdraws himself, but he doesn’t unbuckle. He folds his arms and pouts a little. “I just don’t see how this is going to go any better than last time. Heck I probably won’t even run into him this time.”

A grin spreads over Niall’s face. “Good. I reckon ya nearly killed him last time.”

“Not funny.” 

“It was a little funny.”

“Absolutely not,” Harry spits back, turning his head to look out the window.

Harry can hear Niall opening and closing his door, but he still doesn’t move. He’ll sit here all night if he has to, because this is a terrible idea. Niall moves into his line of vision as he comes around to the passenger’s side of the car. Huffing, Harry watches as Niall opens the door, and proceeds to lean in and unbuckle Harry like a parent would their child. “C’mon,” is all Niall says before he starts walking towards the warehouse. 

When Harry catches up finally, Niall says, “we have to stay after a bit, too. I figure you’ll have your chance to chat up Louis then.”

“Why?”

“Because you want to get in his pants, don’t you?”

Harry shakes his head, frustrated. “No, I mean why do we have to stay after?”

“Oh. Meeting for finals. Jus’ some announcements they gotta make. Usually Liam and I both go, but he couldn’t make it so you’re standing in.”

“I’m not even on the team, Niall.” 

Niall doesn’t seem bothered by this. “You practically are. You’re at all of our games and you know everything about the team. You just don’t ever skate.”

Harry huffs in annoyance, but he doesn’t argue anymore. They’re already there anyway. 

As they take their seats in the bleachers, Harry can’t help feeling a little out of place. He always knows a bunch of people at the matches he goes to, but tonight he’s at a match far from home where his home team isn’t even playing. The only person he knows is Niall, but that kid is comfortable in every social situation he comes across, and Harry doubts the blond would understand the anxious feeling twisting in Harry’s gut right now.

If Harry expects the feeling to settle upon sighting some familiar faces, then he is sorely mistaken. The Doncaster team comes rolling onto the rink and Harry’s stomach does a backflip at the sight of Louis. His long, feathery hair is pushed back by simple, black headband and his tattoos are on full display in his usual roller derby kit. 

Harry’s attention is totally focused on The Tommo as he takes his lap around, and even though Harry is staring the boy down, it takes him longer than it should to realize that Louis is looping around the track and will be passing right in front of Harry and Niall. Harry’s mouth goes dry just before Louis turns his head, catching Harry’s eye. The skater drops his jaw in an expression of mock surprise before turning up the corners of his lips into a wicked grin. He throws up a sign as he flies by, too quick for Harry to really catch. He’s left staring after Louis in shock. 

A cackling in Harry’s ear reminds him of Niall’s presence, and he breaks his gaze to look at Niall sourly. “Not a word.” 

Niall pretends to lock his lips shut and holds his hands up in surrender, but Harry can still see the smile in his eyes.

_____________________________

It’s obvious before the match is even halfway finished that the Donny Death Rollers are going to win the match. They’re really good. Maybe Harry should have known that from the way they’d completely swept the Holmes Chapel team, but seeing this match confirms that one wasn’t a fluke. 

The Doncaster derby has excellent strategy, and Louis is as fast as a whip. Their pivot is decent, too. He scored enough points during the few jams he stepped in for Louis, but Louis is definitely faster. Niall insists Louis’ not that much faster than the pivot, that it’s just Harry’s bias getting in the way. Harry resents that. If the pivot were better, they wouldn’t favor Louis so much as their jammer. Niall just doesn’t listen to reason. 

They fight about it for awhile as the warehouse clears out, waiting for the meeting that’s supposed to take place afterwards. When the place is mostly empty though, Harry quiets down. He doesn’t want the entire collective of the regional roller derby teams to hear him passionately arguing over The Tommo. It would be embarrassing, frankly. He’s supposed to be supporting Holmes Chapel.

Niall and Harry make their way down to the center of the warehouse where everyone who is left has started to gather. An older man, probably in his late thirties or early forties, stands in the middle of everyone patiently. People quiet down after a while on their own, and the chairman opens his mouth to speak—

—only to be interrupted. “Hold up,” an embarrassingly familiar, soft, scratchy voice calls out. “I thought this meeting was for registered Derby members only.” Louis is perched on one of the benches set up to the left and is staring Harry down with half of a smirk on his face. Harry wants to wipe that twisted smile right off Louis’ face. With his own mouth, preferably. “I don’t believe he’s a member,” Louis finishes, pointing at Harry with his chin.

Harry twists quickly to look at Niall, mouthing obscenities at him. Practically on the team, Harry’s arse. He’s embarrassed enough to just stand up and walk out, but Niall catches his arm and pins him in place. “He’s a member,” Niall says confidently. 

The chairman shrugs in response. Louis doesn’t leave it though. “No, no. He told me he wasn’t on the team when we played Holmes Chapel a few weeks ago.”

“He’s registered. Do you want me to pull up the roll call for you?” Niall offers politely, because Niall really doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. Conniving bones, though—he has plenty of those.

Before Louis can take Niall up on that, though, the chairman interrupts loudly. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure we’d all like to get out of here so let’s just get started, shall we? Alright.”

Harry zones out for most of the meeting after that. It’s all pretty boring. Niall gets out his phone to “take notes”, but Harry is pretty sure he’s playing a game. Harry can’t really be sure because he spends most of his time looking at Louis out of the corner of his eye. The boy’s entire posture reads as relaxed confidence, even though Harry can see that he’s clearly worn out, sweat drying on his skin. His hair is mussed from Louis pulling out the headband and running his fingers through his fringe before pushing the headband back onto his head messily. Harry gets caught up watching him though he doesn’t mean to. Louis even catches him looking at one point. The Tommo snarls at him a little, but then he laughs about it quietly and pulls a face at Harry, whose only response is flushed cheeks. 

Looking back to the chairman, Harry latches on to the meeting just for something to distract himself. Harry isn’t quite sure what the man is talking about at first, but then Harry sees the props he’s holding in his hands—merchandise to sell at the upcoming matches. 

“Finally,” the chairman continues, putting the pins he’d been holding back onto the table next to him and picking up a large brown envelope, “we have this year’s posters. This season we’re highlighting the Doncaster teams for their success so far.” A light smattering of applause, and a fair number of playfully rude comments, interrupt. Harry does neither, just waits for the chairman to reveal the posters. 

“For the women, we have the lead jammer, Cherry Vicious.” The poster features a girl with shoulder-length, pink ombre hair poking out from her helmet and intense concentration forming her features. The Doncaster girls all catcall to their jammer, who just smiles brightly. The Donny Death Rollers are cheering too, and the dark-haired lad sitting next to Louis leans over to peck the jammer on the cheek. 

Once the celebration dies down, the chairman whips out the other poster in his envelope. “And for the men’s, it’s The Tommo.” 

Louis’ face is adorably smug and cheerful as his teammates all clap him on the back. It’s a startling contrast to the look he carries in the poster—all hard lines and tense muscles. Both suit him well though, and Harry is torn looking back and forth between the man and the image. 

After that, the meeting winds up fairly quickly, and everyone is standing to go. Harry tears his eyes away from Louis as the skater stands. He doesn’t want to get caught looking again. 

Niall looks at him significantly, but when Harry doesn’t get it, Niall starts tipping his head dramatically towards their left. “Stop that,” Harry hisses, putting a hand up to prevent Niall from pointing at Louis with his bright, blond hair another time. 

“Aren’t you gonna—”

“No, shut up.”

“Hey,” a voice interrupts. That voice.

Harry whips around, wondering how Louis manages to move so quietly. He’s still wearing his skates, for crying out loud. “Hey.” Harry’s answer comes out deep and rough. He’s embarrassed to think that just Louis’ presence affects him that much. 

“So, Mr. I’m-Not-On-The-Team, I feel like you owe me an explanation.”

“I’m really,” Harry says emphatically, “really not on the team. Niall dragged me here. I wasn’t lying to you.” 

Louis smiles, but there’s a hint of danger in his eyes. Harry bites his lip thinking about it. “Well gee, I don’t think I know you well enough to tell whether you’re telling the truth or not.”

“I’m sorry. I promise I wasn’t lying.” Blame Harry’s desire to please everyone for the desperation in his voice.

“Well I think there’s an obvious solution to all this,” Louis offers. Harry nods, urging him to go on. “You said you can’t skate, right?”

“Right,” Harry answers slowly, apprehensively.

“So race me. If you’re shite then I’ll know you weren’t lying. If you can hold your own then you’ll have to owe me for pushing me down and not letting me race you.”

“I didn’t push you down! It was an accident.”

“Semantics,” Louis waves off. “I’m guessing you didn’t bring skates with you.”

“No, but—”

“Alright, who else has huge feet? Zayn! Zayn, where are you?” Louis whirls around, searching the room until he beckons to the dark-haired lad he was sitting next to earlier. The boy has his arm wrapped around the neck of the girl who was on the women’s derby poster, their heads tilted together. Zayn doesn’t much look like he wants to come over, but Louis holds his ground until Zayn makes his way over. 

“What size feet’ve you got?” Louis asks, tugging on the laces of the skates dangling from Zayn’s hands. “We need to borrow your skates.”

Zayn doesn’t argue. He lets go of the skates with a shrug of his shoulder and treks back to his girl. 

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Harry says, practically begging. Louis is already shoving the skates into Harry’s arms though. 

“Try these on, alright? I’ll go see what else there is around just in case.” Louis skates off, leaving Harry with a pair of borrowed skates and a disturbingly amused Niall.

“Shut up,” Harry warns his friend.

Niall doesn’t stop laughing. “Ju-jus’ try them on, Harry.”

“I’m gonna fall on my arse.” 

“Oh, come on, you’re not that bad.”

Harry whines in distress. “Why did you have to drag me here and lie.”

“What? I never lied,” Niall insists.

“Oh yeah, I’m really registered on a roller derby team when I never even properly learned how to skate!”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Harry replies in a voice laden with sarcasm, “ _oh_.”

“Well, maybe you are registered? As a coach or summat. You know…”

Harry blinks, his mouth gone slack. “You didn’t.”

“I don’t know.” Niall shrugs.

Louis returns to them (still rolling around everywhere on his skates), and Harry can no longer interrogate Niall about actions. 

“Hey, did you try those on?” Louis says.

“Uhh, no,” Harry answers, looking at the skates in his hands.

“Well no one else is willing to give up their skates so come on. Put them on.”

Harry doesn’t argue, though he’s not sure why. He knows this is a bad idea, but he dares anyone to try and defy Louis. He’s intimidating, and a lot like a tornado—sweeping by unbothered by everything he disrupts. 

The skates aren’t too bad. Harry laces them up and rolls his feet across the floor, bum still firmly planted on the bench. His pinky toe is a little pinched, but it’s nothing he can’t manage for the two minutes it will take to convince Louis that he really is a terrible skater. If nothing else, it will probably just make it worse.

Once Harry is all strapped up and ready to go, he holds his hand out to Niall and tries not to wonder if Louis is laughing at him for needing help just to stand. 

“Alright. We ready?” 

Harry looks at Louis and nods, cautiously letting go of Niall’s arm so that he can face the right way on the track. 

“On the count of three,” Louis says to Harry. “One, two, three.”

Louis takes off like a shot, practically running away on his skates. Harry gets going as well, but he’s wobbly until he gets into his rhythm. By the time he manages to get his feet going the right way, Louis is already at the turn of the track. Skating on, Harry follows him at a much slower pace. He may have exaggerated when he said he couldn’t skate—he doesn’t fall down at all most of the time. Still, he’s going about the pace of a snail in comparison to Louis. 

When Harry is brave enough to look away from his feet, he catches Louis looking behind himself to spot Harry. It takes him a second of searching to see that Harry is still on the other side of the track. Harry gives him a little wave and Louis just throws his head back, a loud laugh erupting from his mouth. 

The skater doesn’t keep pumping his legs, just coasts until he’s caught up with Harry again. Louis slows down, maintaining Harry’s speed. 

“Come on then. You’re not going fast enough.” 

“I’m not going to go any faster. I’ll fall,” Harry explains. 

Louis shakes his head. “No, you can go faster. Just do what you’re doing now, but work your legs a bit more. You have long legs, even. Shouldn’t be that hard to out-skate little ol’ me.” 

Harry snorts, too endeared by Louis to be embarrassed about his laugh. “That’s the problem. They’re too long. I can’t control them at that speed.” 

“Oh, don’t give me that. Come on, I’ll give you a push.”

Louis circles behind Harry, and before he can stop the skater, he’s pushing Harry forward. If Harry had kept his legs still, it might not have gone that badly. Of course, that’s the exact opposite of what he does. Harry ends up tripping himself, one skate somehow running into the other, and he throws out his arms to break his fall. 

Harry crashes into something a lot softer and a lot closer to him than the floor. He straightens out his feet and tries to make sense of the tangle of limbs that were once just his arms. 

The Tommo had a grasp on both of his arms, and had somehow pushed Harry’s upper body back so that he was standing upright again. Amazed, Harry lifted his head to watch the boy who had rescued him. Louis was skating backwards, not even looking at where he was going. 

“You alright there?” He asked, smiling with concern in his eyes. It was sweet, and seeing the way Louis’ little canines bit into his bottom lip made Harry’s stomach flutter. Everything about this boy was cute. 

“Yeah,” Harry answered breathlessly. They smiled at each other stupidly for what felt like an eternity. 

Suddenly the smile dropped from Louis’ face. The boy was being pulled away from Harry, tipping backwards in a strange way. Harry was about to ask what was wrong, but then his feet slipped out from beneath him, and he was tilting forward, crashing into Louis and falling together. 

Harry has just about enough time to cradle Louis’ head in his arms so that it won’t crack on the hard floor they fall to. Even with his little bit of foresight, Harry feels absolutely terrible when they land. His entire weight falls directly on top of the smaller boy, pinning him down. Louis groans and rolls his head to the side, burying himself into Harry.

“Sorry!” Harry says, mortified. He tries to get up to remove the weight from Louis’ body, but his arm is still trapped beneath Louis’ head. “Um.” He tugs on it gently, but Louis shifts again, keeping him from moving any more. The result is that Harry ends up with his butt in the air as he shifts onto his knees. His head and shoulders are slanted down towards Louis at an awkward angle. “Are you okay?” 

Louis groans again, but he turns back to face Harry and blinks his eyes open. He’s grimacing, but he nods anyway. “M fine. We really gotta stop doing this though. I’m afraid I won’t live past twenty-five if we do.”

It’s really not the right message to take from what Louis just said, but he can’t help but think about the potential of knowing the boy that long. Harry isn’t quite sure how old Louis is, but he’s guessing twenty-five isn’t exactly tomorrow. He tries not to think about things like wedding bells and sharing a flat, but it’s kind of like it all flashes before his eyes—his possible future with this boy. 

“Are you alright?” Louis’ face is curious, edging on serious concern. Harry must have zoned out for awhile.

“Ye-yeah. Fine. Good. Great, really.”

“Fantastic. How about getting up then?”

“Oh.” He should do that. “Right. Um, you’re kind of—on my, yeah.” Louis lifts his head, and Harry moves his arm out of the way. He shuffles backwards and sits back on his haunches, too afraid to get up again. He’ll probably just take his skates off while he’s on the floor. 

Louis doesn’t get up on his feet either. The boy sits up though, and scoots backwards on his bum until he’s an appropriate distance away from Harry. As Harry works on unlacing his skates, Louis sits and recovers from the fall, checking his arms for bruises and kicking at the metal strip that had caused their accident. 

“You should probably look where you’re going next time,” Harry teases. Louis pulls a face but doesn’t answer. 

Niall is making his way over to them, waggling his eyebrows at Harry. The blond is so irritatingly jolly all the time, it kind of makes Harry want to scowl. Right now though he’s smiling instead, stealing glances at Louis when he can.

“You know,” Louis starts after a stretch of silence, “I was going to offer you lessons if you really didn’t know how to skate, but after being a part of that, you probably don’t want to take lessons from me, do you?” The skater is smiling again, but it’s a bit self-deprecating. 

“No! You’re great, actually. I’m really impressed with your skating. Don’t put yourself down.” 

Louis’ grin gets wider, and Harry’s heart soars. “Thanks. Anyway, we should still hang out sometime. Accidents aside, you seem like a chill guy.”

 _It’s not a date_ , Harry admonishes himself. He can’t help the fluttering of his heart though. “I’d really like that.”

_____________________________

Looking back, Harry realizes how much sense it makes that Louis’ reaction to getting knocked over was to challenge Harry to a race. The skater makes literally everything into a competition. _Bet you can’t finish your sandwich before me_. _Wanna see who can fit more chips in their mouth_? _Between me and you_? _Fifa_? _Loser has to pay for the movie_.

Harry almost always loses, because Louis is already half a mile ahead before he’s even done talking. He puts a good effort in though, because competing with Louis is fun, even when the little brunette is shaking his arse in a victory dance and heckling Harry like there’s no tomorrow. 

The competitiveness just seems to be a part of his nature, like he can’t really help it. Maybe that’s why Louis was the one to initiate contact after they had swapped numbers that night at the derby meeting. A race to be the first one to text. His eagerness to get to know Harry led him to think that maybe Louis was just as into him as Harry was into Louis. Except now it’s a month later and still nothing has happened except from some “laddy time” together, Harry’s starting to think that he and Louis are competitors in two different games, neither one aware that their rival is in another bracket completely. 

Louis is racing to be Harry’s best mate, closer to him than Liam or even Niall, and Harry is battling to get Louis to see him as a potential date, fuck, boyfriend. Currently Louis is winning, per usual. 

The skater bursts into Harry and Niall’s flat, loud and sweaty from the match he’d won just about an hour earlier. Harry hadn’t been able to go because he had a shift at the bakery, but they agreed to meet at Harry’s after. Harry looks away from the TV to smile brightly at Louis. He doesn’t get up because getting close to a hot, energetic, triumphant Louis leads to a lot of stimulating contact Harry could do without. Niall jumps up from the couch though, taking the bowl of popcorn away to the other half of their living room, otherwise known as the kitchen. 

“Congratulations,” Niall says, going in for a fist bump. 

“Thanks, mate. We’re in the finals.” Louis’ face is smug, his eyebrows moving up and down and his mouth forming an open smirk. His tongue swipes along his bottom lip unconsciously. 

Niall grumbles, his show of sportsmanship drained from him. “No need to rub it in.”

“Aw, hey don’t be like that. You guys were so close. So, so close to being in the finals.” Louis sounds sincere, except for the fact that he’s lying through his teeth. They hadn’t been anywhere near close. Louis isn’t a prick—he wouldn’t make fun of them if it was that much of a sore spot. Still, the pair of them quickly devolve into a slap fight that Harry should probably break up before it turns into full on wrestling. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” Harry gets up and moves closer, ready to get in between them if needs be. He doesn’t.

“Hazza!” Louis comes running into Harry like a bowling ball. His head is bowed, and he knocks his shoulders into Harry’s chest/stomach area like he’s going to knock Harry to the floor. He struggles a bit, because even if Louis is more coordinated, Harry definitely has more muscle mass. In the end he swipes Harry’s legs, knocking Harry on his back and crawling on top to pin Harry’s hands to the floor.

“I’m out,” Niall calls, running to the door without bothering to grab anything like his phone or keys. He’s honestly convinced Harry and Louis are just going to rip their clothes off and go at it like animals in front of him someday. Harry’s explanations of the nature of his and Louis’ relationship seem to be falling on deaf ears. 

“Well,” Louis says, turning back to Harry after the door slams, “he left pretty fast.” 

“Yeah, I dont know.” Harry isn’t sure if he sounds breathless because there’s a boy sitting on his chest or if it’s because said boy happens to be Louis. 

“Anyway. What are we doing today? Kickabout? Skating? You could probably do with some practice. I have my skates with me if you wanna.”

 _Yeah I wanna_. “Um, maybe we could just like, have a day in?”

Louis pouts and wiggles around, pent-up energy rolling off of him in waves. Harry places his hands firmly on Louis’ hips and tries not to think about the heat beneath his fingers. At least it keeps Louis from moving. “That’s so boring,” he whines.

Harry’s resolve is crumbling. Even though he’s worn out from standing all day at the bakery, Harry knows he’ll give in to whatever tiring activity Louis wants if the boy whines long enough. Trying to hold out just a little longer, Harry bites his lip and says nothing. Louis stares him down, eyes calculating, determined.

“You know what,” Louis says finally. “I’m hungry. Cook for me?”

“Or. . .” Harry tries to move his hand, forgetting that Louis still has it pinned to the floor. He barely gets it off the ground before Louis pushes it back down forcefully. Heaving a sigh, Harry continues, “or we could order takeout.”

“Not one of those,” Louis frees one of Harry’s hands to gesture vaguely with one of his own, “kind of places, right?” 

“Nah, you can pick.” 

“Alright,” Louis nods. “We can do that.” 

Finally, Louis lets go of Harry completely, pushing himself back and onto his feet. When he’s up, he lends Harry a hand and offers him an open smile. It’s one of those things he does that makes Harry pause. Louis can be manic and all over the place, and Harry will endure it with fondness; but sometimes Louis just gets soft and open, and it’s like a punch right in Harry’s chest each time. 

After he recovers, Harry orders the food from the restaurant Louis picks. He blushes and stammers out the order over the phone, realizing he doesn’t even ask what Louis wants because he knows. It’s only been a month and Harry just _knows_ Louis so well it feels like, even when there’s so much he still has to figure out. Secretly part of him thinks that means they’re just meant to be together, but he’s always telling that part of his brain to knock it off. He still hasn’t even figured out what Louis is into. He doesn’t talk about girls, but he doesn’t talk about boys either. It’s all just so frustrating that Harry kind of wants to kick something or just pull Louis in for a kiss and get it over with. Neither of those things seem like a good idea though. Instead, Harry hangs up and joins Louis on the couch to play fifa until their food arrives.

During dinner they settle on watching a movie to free their hands up, and Louis digs through Harry’s collection until he finds _Grease_ and demands they watch that. It’s not as if Harry would have put up much of a fight anyway, but he holds up his hands in surrender before taking the disc and putting it into play.

When they finish eating, Louis tosses all the trash away. He sits down closer to Harry than he had been before, and Harry stares at the tiny bit of space that’s left between them, willing it away. “Something wrong?” Louis asks, his eyes still on the screen though he must’ve been looking before Harry looked up. 

“No.”

Louis nods, and the only sound after that is the movie playing. Harry tries to pay attention, because he really does like the movie, he does. It’s just that he’s seen it before and watching Louis is something he’s had a lot less opportunity to do in his lifetime. If Louis notices Harry turning his head every few minutes to look over at him, he says nothing. After a bit he starts to shift around a lot, like he’s uncomfortable, and Harry forces himself to keep looking at the screen. 

“I’m a lot more tired than I thought,” Louis says softly. 

“You can lay down if you want.” 

“Yeah?”

Harry nods, finally looking at Louis, watching him watch Harry, the movie a little bit forgotten for the moment. He assumes Louis will throw his legs up over Harry’s lap, but instead Louis starts shoving at his side like a menace. “Budge over, then.” Disappointed, Harry scoots over to the very end of the couch, jamming himself into the corner so that Louis can curl up on the rest of the cushion.

Louis pulls his feet onto the sofa, and before Harry realizes what’s happening, Louis is practically crawling on Harry, situating himself so that his head is resting in the crook of Harry’s arm lying on the armrest and his legs are stretched out along the couch. 

“That can’t be comfortable.”

“Well it is. This is the most comfortable I’ve ever been in my life, so.” Louis pokes his tongue out in defiance. Harry laughs but pulls his own face, scrunching up his nose and mouth. In answer, Louis covers Harry’s mouth with his little hand, smooshing Harry’s face as best he can from the angle he’s at. 

Grabbing Louis’ wrist and pulling it away, Harry says, “You didn’t need that much space either. There’s still half a couch left.” 

Louis wiggles his feet, reaching with his toes to cover as much space as he can without moving his upper body. “You’re exaggerating,” he says as he gives up, settling down again. Harry just shakes his head affectionately and drops the teasing. Louis’ eyelids look heavy with sleep when he blinks anyway, slowly dragging themselves open only to droop again. 

Somehow Harry falls asleep before the movie is finished. Louis is already snuffling and breathing evenly where he lays when Harry tips his head back because he’s too tired to hold it up anymore. When he wakes in the morning, it’s to a crooked neck, a solid weight pinning him in place, and more pain in his chest than he ever thought he could have from being close to someone he’s pretty sure he loves.

_____________________________

Harry, Niall, and Liam all go to the men’s final match together. It’s a bit of a drive to go alone, and besides that Niall and Liam have both taken a shine to Louis and his best mate, Zayn. On the rare occasion they all have time, the five of them hang out together. It feels great to have them all get along, despite their teams technically being rivals, and sometimes it’s just easier for Harry to take his doses of Louis diluted with the other lads. It doesn’t hurt so much when the other guys are there to distract him and mess about, and Louis is generally in less physical contact with Harry then, though he still somehow manages to always be close by. 

The three of them all sit in the stands with the rest of the Doncaster fans. Even though it’s not a home match for them, the seats are still pretty packed. Harry chalks it up to this being the final bout and squeezes in with the lads near Zayn’s girlfriend, Perrie and the rest of the girls from Rhythmix Rollers. 

Like usual, Louis is jammer for the majority of the match. He manages an early lead in the beginning, though the other team is never really far behind. The only time the Donny Death Rollers lose their lead is when their pivot takes over as jammer for a few jams. The teams are neck and neck when the opposing jammer breaks through the pack first. In the next jam, Louis is put back in to replace Scarecrow. Despite the way Louis is stretching out his muscles like they’re aching, he joins the line-up with a determined scowl on his face and manages to catch them up again in just one round. 

Harry sits on the edge of his seat, his knees practically digging into the person seated in front of him until she scoots over, throwing a dirty look over her shoulder. Harry disregards it, his eyes locked on Louis as he glides into his place for the final jam. The Donny Death Rollers are leading now, but only by three points—just enough that if Louis doesn’t get out first, they could easily lose the whole match. 

The whistle blows. It’s a struggle for both jammers to weave their way through the pack as each team is determined not to let the other win, but Louis is smaller, more lithe, than the lanky jammer he’s facing. The announcer for the match explodes his voice as he yells out that The Tommo has pulled out first.

Harry stands up abruptly, almost losing his balance in his attempt to get up and cheer Louis on. He regains his footing just in time to see Louis approaching the pack from the back, his opponent at least a quarter of the rink behind. It’s almost absurd how easily he passes through the pack. Louis dodges the arms thrown out to stop him with agility, and his teammates that are nearby work as much as they can to trip up the blockers. The Tommo passes all four blockers and quickly pats his hips with his hands, signalling to the referee to end the jam before the other jammer even has a chance to score any points. 

The final whistle signals the end of the match, and Harry jumps up and down in his eagerness, much to the annoyance of the spectators around him. Niall even nudges him sharply in the ribs. “Cut that out! Go see yer boy!”

“He’s not—” Harry starts to protest, but Niall is already ushering Liam away so they can get out of the mass of people. 

Getting to Louis isn’t the easiest task. He did just win the finals of the season, and he’s surrounded by not only his boys, but a crowd of fans. Louis must have spotted Harry’s head of curls above the crowd though, because Louis meets Harry halfway through the mass of people. 

“Hi, friend,” Louis greets. His smile is exuberant, and even though he tries to stifle it by biting the corners of his mouth, it breaks through like rays of sunshine. Harry can feel the bitterness in his stomach over the title he’s given fighting with the butterflies trying to take over. 

“Hey.” As close as they are, Harry can see beads of sweat slipping from the tips of Louis’ pushed back hair. It trickles down his neck and makes his collarbones glisten under the lights of the warehouse. Harry swallows and tries to pull his gaze back up from Louis’ off-kilter vest to look in his eyes. 

Bright blue irises shine with amusement, and Harry can feel his own smile creeping back onto his face after it slipped while he was staring. Louis pushes in even closer amidst the sea of people, the wheels of his skates bumping into the toes of Harry’s boots. The skater starts to slip backwards, unable to stay in place because of the slope of the rink. Harry reaches out instinctively to steady him. Hauling Louis in close—closer than he should, probably—Harry leans in to congratulate Louis. His words are cut short though. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, pulling Harry in much closer than he’d anticipated. Their lips bump together. Shock runs from Harry’s mouth all the way down his spine, and he moves to pull away and apologize. Louis hasn’t let up on his neck though, and after a moment Harry realizes that the lips against his are moving insistently. 

Heart beating loudly, Harry tightens his grip on Louis’ waist and reciprocates the kiss. There’s still cheering going on in the background, but it sounds like it’s thousands of miles away. The sound of blood rushing in his ears and two heartbeats is all Harry can listen to. 

Louis breaks the kiss first and pushes himself up on the front tips of his skates. It looks dangerous, though Louis doesn’t seem to think so. Harry holds Louis as tight as he can to keep the boy from falling. He doesn’t even realize what Louis is doing until he feels the breath hitting his ear. 

“Wanna fuck you,” Louis whispers. His voice is rough and breathy. Harry digs his fingers into Louis’ side, unsure of who is holding up who now. “In my car. Now.”

Harry nods quickly, and the pair of them start to move. Louis doesn’t even stop to take off his skates, and he brushes off all the praise he gets with a wave and a smile. Harry can’t stop looking at their hands. He hadn’t even noticed they were holding each other until now. 

The parking lot is filled with people trying to get into their cars to leave. Louis doesn’t pay them any mind as he (gently) shoves Harry into the backseat of his beat up sedan and climbs in after. The first thing Louis does is unlace his skates and dump them on the floor. Harry watches from his cramped seat, head bent over from the low ceiling.

Once his skates are off, Louis turns on Harry. He gulps, suddenly feeling unsure of himself under Louis’ gaze. Louis clambers across the seats in one fluid movement, and they’re kissing again. Louis’ lips are soft but strong. His scent fills up the confined space, making Harry feel dizzy. “Louis,” he breathes when they break apart.

“Yeah,” is Louis’ only answer. He’s currently focused on unbuttoning Harry’s shirt with deft fingers. When Harry doesn’t say anything else, Louis looks up, his blue eyes meeting Harry’s green ones. He leans in for another kiss, slower than the ones before. It eases the tension in Harry’s stomach a bit.

The last button on Harry’s shirt pops open, and Louis slips his fingers underneath the fabric on Harry’s shoulders to take it off. Something that sounds like a quiet moan comes from Louis as his gaze sweeps over Harry’s chest. 

Louis leans in again, but ducks his head to fit his head into the crook of Harry’s neck. A sharp little pain pierces Harry as Louis bites into the skin at the juncture of Harry’s neck and shoulder. It hurts, but it sends goosebumps all over Harry’s skin. “Nnng,” he moans. 

The little terror doesn’t let up on Harry’s neck for a second, biting and licking his way over the previously smooth, clear skin there. Harry can feel Louis’ hands working at the button on his jeans, and he cants his hips to give Louis easier access. The sound of Harry’s zipper coming undone rips through the car, harsher than the sounds of their panting. Harry’s jeans don’t come off easily, and Louis has to break away from his spot on Harry’s neck to tug them off. 

Louis throws the jeans into the passenger’s seat of the car and sits back to look over Harry once more, who’s wearing nothing but a small pair of light blue briefs. “Are you going to take any of my clothes off, or do I have to do that myself?”

Harry blushes, but he pulls himself forward so that he can reach the hem of Louis’ shirt. Harry takes his time undressing Louis. He can tell it’s frustrating the smaller boy to no end, but Harry can’t help but stare at the exposed golden skin and flit his fingers over Louis’ chest as it rises and falls or his fluttering stomach. 

When they’re both down to just their pants, they kiss a bit more, Louis pushing Harry back to reclaim his spot over Harry. It feels like they’re going to just kiss forever with the way they’re going at it, but Harry can feel Louis’ cock digging into his hip, nearly pushing against Harry’s own erection. After awhile, Louis pulls away and half climbs into the front seat to dig through his glovebox. 

He emerges with a small plastic bag. It contains only two items—a box of condoms and lube. Louis dumps them out of the bag and tosses it onto the floor before tearing into the box holding the lube. 

Harry worries his lip with his teeth. He feels anxious for some reason. Part of it has to do with what he knows is going to happen next. “Prepared, were you?” Harry jibes.

Louis flashes Harry a smile. “Figured I’d be winning a lot tonight.” He finally manages to open the packaging, which also goes on the floor. “Can I?” He asks, one hand sneaking up to brush over the waistband of Harry’s pants. Harry nods and lifts his hips so that Louis can pull the briefs down.

The skater takes a moment to appreciate what’s underneath, his tongue darting out to lick his lips unconsciously. Louis doesn’t touch Harry at all though. “Turn around for me, love. It’ll be easier on your knees, I think.” 

Harry complies, and the fluttering in his stomach intensifies. He can hear the _snick_ of a bottle opening and closing, and then he can feel one hand come to rest on the small of his back. Louis rubs small circles into his back soothingly. It eases some of the nervousness Harry feels being exposed like this to Louis.

“You know,” Harry croaks, his throat a little dry. “I really like you, Louis.”

“I like you too, babe.” 

“No, I mean—I _really_ like you. I want to—. I don’t want this to be just a one time thing,” Harry finishes in a whisper.

The comforting petting that Louis was doing before stops, and Harry almost whines, afraid he’s ruined everything. Harry doesn’t turn around, too scared to look Louis in the eyes. The silence is deafening. He can’t hear or feel anything for the longest time, and it’s so nerve-wracking. 

Finally, the car creaks as Louis starts to shift around, and then Harry feels just one small, feather-light touch of lips on the dimple of his back. “I don’t want that either,” Louis whispers. Then, louder, he says “What do you think I’ve been here for all this time?”

Harry has to sink his teeth into the skin of his bottom lip. It does nothing to stifle the grin splitting his face. His face is burning and he hides it in his folded arms. “I don’t know,” he mumbles.

Louis chuckles, but doesn’t press his question again. Instead, he backs up, taking his warmth with him. “May I?” he asks as a cold, slick finger brushes against Harry’s entrance. Harry jumps, his hole clenching in anticipation. 

“Yes.” His voice is just a hoarse whisper. 

Harry has to force himself to relax as Louis nudges his finger against the rim again. When he does, Louis slips his finger inside slowly, easing his way in. Louis has small hands, and even when Harry is filled with three fingers pulling in and out of him, stretching him open, Louis hasn’t reached Harry’s prostate yet. He swears he can feel how close Louis is every time the boy pushes in as deep as he can go, and Harry pushes back against the fingers inside of him with desperation. “I know, baby,” Louis whispers, probably in response to Harry whining. 

“Just want you inside me,” Harry begs. 

“Okay.” Louis pulls his fingers out for the last time, and Harry’s hole flutters around the sudden emptiness. He’s left feeling edgy and open for too long as Louis shifts around, undoubtedly trying to remove his pants in the limited space they have. 

Finally, the sound of the condom packet being ripped open hits Harry’s ears. He wiggles his bum a little at the sound. Louis laughs again and squeezes one of Harry’s small cheeks with his hand. 

The squeezing turns into kneading, and Harry can feel Louis pushing his cheeks apart. Harry stills, his breath catching in his throat. Louis ruts his cock between Harry’s arse cheeks, lazily rubbing himself off before catching the tip on Harry’s rim and pushing in. 

Louis’ hands were no indication of his size elsewhere. He’s thicker than Harry expected, and it feels like Harry is going to be split open from the inside. Louis groans brokenly, and Harry pushes his fingernails into the skin of his own arms to take the edge off. It seems like ages before Louis bottoms out and the both of them are able to regain some control over their breathing. 

“Ready?” Louis checks.

“Yes, god—move.”

He pulls out slowly, dragging inside and making Harry feel empty again. Just the tip of Louis is left inside before he fucks back in. Louis maintains a steady pace—never faster or slower—and aside from the first thrust, he never goes all the way in or all the way out. It drives Harry mad. He can’t stay still for a second, writhing and pushing back against Louis in an attempt to meet all of his thrusts. Louis just barely keeps control, fucking Harry but keeping him from really getting what he wants.

Harry makes a frustrated noise as he tries and fails, again, to push himself back onto Louis’ cock. “Fuck, Louis. Please.”

“Alright,” Louis concedes, but he doesn’t change his pace at all. If anything he slows down. Harry is about to cry, or something, but suddenly Louis is pulling back on his hips and pushing down on Harry’s back. Harry loses his balance on his knees, and slips down until he’s laid out flat on the seats. His legs are bent at the knees, his feet touching the cool glass of the car windows. Harry’s stomach and hips are pushed flush against the soft, velvety material of the seats with Louis’ legs bracketing his hips. One of Louis’ legs slips from the too small seats and he’s half-crouching, half-standing over Harry. 

The pace kicks up again, and Louis starts to pump himself in and out of Harry with some sort of drive. Louis nails against Harry’s prostate on the second thrust in, and after Harry cries out, Louis is sure to hit that spot again every time he pushes in. Harry has no power to move. Louis’ hands are pinning him down on his back and his arse is getting thoroughly fucked. The cloth of the seats rubs against Harry’s cock. He can feel his pre-come getting all over the place as Louis pushes against his body. 

“Fu—,” Louis breaks off with a moan. Harry can’t see his face, but he wants to. He wants to know if Louis looks as wrecked as Harry feels. 

Unable to do anything but take it all, Harry can feel his orgasm building. It makes him feel a little bit powerless to know he couldn’t do anything to stop it, but it’s thrilling all the same. “Lou, Lou, Lou,” he tries to warn, but he can’t say anything else. Harry spurts out hard all over Louis’ seats, and his too-loud moans are choked off with his orgasm. Louis fucks him through it, and when Harry is completely spent, Louis keeps going.

Louis’ groaning turns into breathy moans as he gets closer to the edge, and they get louder as Harry feels the warmth of Louis’ come spill into the condom. The pace finally slows into a grinding halt when Louis is done. Harry can feel Louis’ legs and arms shaking, and then the boy’s sweaty form is collapsing on Harry’s back. 

Louis pants above Harry, trying to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he finally says between breaths, “couldn’t stop.”

“‘S okay,” is all Harry says.

They lay there in silence for a long time after that. They’re both covered in sweat, Harry in come, but they can’t be bothered to move. 

Louis finally pulls out and climbs off of Harry when Harry is trying to shift to get more comfortable. He ties up the condom and tosses it into the plastic bag from the store before procuring a towel from somewhere and cleaning himself up a bit. He hands it to Harry afterwards to clean up his stomach. Harry tries to clean up the seats up as well, but some of the come is already dried. Louis waves off Harry’s apology and says he’ll shampoo it later. 

They dress in silence, Harry noting that the sky outside is now dark and the parking lot is empty aside from their car. 

“Um, can I get a ride with you?” Harry asks nervously. “I think Niall and Liam left without me.” 

“Sure,” Louis says easily, smiling at Harry. “You can stay at mine tonight if you want.” 

Harry blushes and ducks his head, trying not to think about spooning Louis tonight with too much excitement. “Yeah, I want.” 

“Good.” Louis nods, and after a moment, they break their staring match to get out and climb into the front seats.

_____________________________

Louis’ flat isn’t as empty as they’d anticipated it to be. Far from it, actually. A party had gathered there, consisting of Niall, Liam, both Doncaster roller derby teams, and tons of people Harry doesn’t really know. They all shout at them when Louis unlocks the door and swings it open, causing them both to jump back in surprise.

Zayn and his girlfriend, Perrie, along with Niall and Liam are all at the front of the crowd. When they catch sight of Harry’s and Louis’ obviously rumpled clothes and flushed faces it only makes them yell louder. Harry’s sure someone is yelling very crude things in the background, but he can’t hear it well enough to be sure. Either way, it all makes him blush harder. Louis is smiling though, looking a bit smug as he turns to Harry and pecks him on the lips. 

Someone woops and someone else catcalls them. Harry just shakes his head and buries his face into Louis’ hair.

Niall is the one who manages to pull Harry away for just a second. The blond hands Harry a drink and yells in his ear, “I told you so.”

Harry shoves off the Irish lad and turns to find Liam giving Louis a “serious talk”, probably about not hurting Harry, and Louis is nodding along gravely. Harry interrupts them rudely, snaking his arm around Louis’ waist and shooing Liam away. Louis flashes Harry a grin and steals Harry’s drink to take a sip. 

“Honestly,” Louis says as he hands it back, “I think I’m too worn out for this.” 

“Well, we could go shower if you want, then lock ourselves into your bedroom.” 

Louis considers Harry, and Harry waggles his eyebrows ridiculously. Louis snorts at him fondly before dragging him to the bathroom. It’s locked, but Louis bangs on the door and tells whoever’s inside to hurry up. A girl comes scurrying out a minute later looking mildly irritated at them. Harry shrugs at her and says a quick sorry as Louis pulls him inside.

The skater really is too tired for much of anything other than showering, but the second Harry takes his clothes off, Louis is touching him everywhere lazily. Harry sates him by getting on his knees and blowing Louis in the shower. Louis nearly falls over and yanks a bit too hard on Harry’s hair when he comes, but it’s still satisfying for Harry to watch him fall apart, and Harry has to pull himself off while he’s still kneeling. 

Not much later, the pair of them are huddled together naked in Louis’ bed, staring at each other in the dark. Harry watches as Louis’ eyelids droop every time he tries to force them open. 

“You should go to sleep,” Harry whispers.

Louis shakes his head and says, “I can’t,” but he snuggles in closer to Harry anyway, fitting his head underneath Harry’s chin. 

With Louis this close, Harry can feel their breathing sync together, chests rising and falling at the same time. He breaks the silence even though he’s not sure Louis is still awake. “I never thought I’d actually end up here with you.”

At first Louis says nothing, and Harry thinks he really must be asleep, but then he answers, quietly, “I thought you’d never make a move.”

“I didn’t,” Harry whispers back. “You kissed me.”

Louis is still and silent again for the longest time, but finally he shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. We’re here now.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like come say hi! on tumblr. I'm [nudistyles](http://nudistyles.tumblr.com)


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